


Memories of Yours

by Shiro_Hunter



Category: Code Vein (Video Game)
Genre: Family mention, Gen, Just Jack being Dad Jack, Or not really?? Pretty much an unseen event of the Memories of ... part tbh, POV First Person, Pre-game interaction, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 13:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21392599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiro_Hunter/pseuds/Shiro_Hunter
Summary: A letter from a loved one should have been a source of joy in this hellish frontline against the Queen -- at least, that's what Jack thought until he saw one looking like the exact opposite.
Relationships: Protagonist & Jack Rutherford
Comments: 7
Kudos: 96





	Memories of Yours

**Author's Note:**

> I genuinely have no idea what counts as OC protagonists. I write vaguely but there are some of my personal headcanon sprinkled in for good measure?? Anyway. I just want to write Jack being a dad... it's Black Jack but it's Dad Jack
> 
> Spoilers for the area after Cathedral of the Sacred Blood!

“...You’re not going to join the others?"

From where he sat, he looked up, shook his head, but said nothing more.

It was that time of the month again: when the so-called ‘shipment’ — supplies, ammo, whole blood rations and, most notably,  _ letters  _ from loved ones — were delivered to the front lines, from the humans outside to the revenants fighting for Project Queenslayer. Typically, shipment night meant a crowded night at the base; every soldier with the chance to would, with Silva’s permission, gather around the cargo room in search for fresh blood supplies, brand-new weapon parts, or a few words from their families and loved ones, while those on patrol could only look on with envy. They would be overjoyed, running into the storage building to join in this tiny, miniscule break, a small moment of celebration in this bleak hell.

(After all, we all used to be human, once.)

At least, that’s what I thought until I saw one doing exactly the opposite.

I sighed. The new kid always  _ were _ a quiet one, even during our expedition together earlier this morning, but I hadn’t expected him to flat-out exit the building when the shipment had come in, instead opting to sit on the ground outside, staring at God-knows-what in the cool night air of the battlefield. Something had urged me to follow him, but he was still the same old, man-of-two-words kind, no matter how you look at it.

“Can I ask why?” I asked him, after he showed no sign of elaborating on his own. “Relax, I’m not gonna force you back in or anything. Just curious.”

He looked up once again, with that same, flat face, but now scanned me from head-to-toe, as if judging whether he really should be telling the truth to his captain. Eventually, though, he turned back to the campfire he’d been watching, and said:

“I’ve already had my blood ration for today,” he explained. “And I won’t have anything for me in the mailbox, anyway.”

“You’re on bad terms with your family?”

He shook his head. “My parents died when I was young. They’re just not around anymore.”

“I…see,” I said, crossing my arms. “My bad.”

“I don’t mind,” he assured, his emotionless face showing the ghost of a smile for a split second. “It’s already an old story. What about your situation, though, sir?”

“Hm?”

“Frankly, you seem even less interested in the shipment than I do, Captain Jack,” he began. “But it’s the first time you’ve initiated a conversation with me since we partnered. Was there something you wanted to tell me?”

I stared at him for a moment, genuinely astonished that my subordinate kept track of something so miniscule, but then huffed as I leaned to the nearest stack of crates.  _ Perceptive, I like that. _

“Nothing in particular, to be honest,”  _ Not a complete lie, but it’ll have to do. _ “It’s rare to see somebody like you, is all.”

The new kid didn’t look wholly convinced, but seem to let the topic slide out of respect for boundaries. “Like me, how? Not a single letter to their name in the shipment? With the Great Collapse, you’d think people like that would be easy to find — with all due respect.”

“No, not that. Though I understand where you’re coming from,” I couldn’t help but chuckle — the kid was so blunt, a mallet wouldn’t win against him.  _ Amusing _ . “I mean someone like  _ you _ . A soldier who never seem to have complaints, emotions, nor interest in the outside world. Are you aware some squads discuss behind your back whether you’ve really been brought back to life?”

A pause. “Considering there are two of us here, outside, while everyone's celebrating inside — I assume you’re one of the soldiers with no complaints, emotions nor interest in the outside world, too, sir?”

“You like turn the subject around whenever it concerns you, don’t you?” I scoffed, halfway between thoroughly amused and thoroughly frustrated. “I have my own circumstances. I’d like to hear more about yours, though.”

“...Is that an order?”

“If that’s what’ll get you to talk about yourself.”

The new kid hummed, looking up at the starry skies above as if pondering for a few moments. His face remained an emotionless mask even as he turned his head to me again, saying:

“May I admit something, sir?”

I raised my brow, urging him to continue.

“That part about how I won’t have any letters to my name? That was a lie,” he said, flatly. Though his face didn’t show it, the way he dropped his head down had an almost child-like quality to it. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “Are you saying you still have family outside, though?”

“A little brother,” he replied. “...Maybe.”

“‘Maybe’?”

“I don’t remember much of him,” he elaborated, once again staring at the embers of the campfire. “Records say it took me a few years to wake up after turning into a Revenant, and that I’ve died a few times. That’s probably why my memory of the world is blurry already.

“I  _ think  _ he’s important to me, but I can’t remember why, where he is, how old he is, or…whether he died or not, during the Great Collapse,” he continued, the fist balled-up on his sides betraying the emotionless look on his face. “And by this point, I don’t think I want to know. …That’s all.”

_ So that’s why he’s been avoiding the mail.  _ I kept silent, staring at him for a while longer. Maybe it was pity, maybe it was even the feeling of relation, but somehow, I suddenly understood why he’d been acting the way he was — and maybe, how he felt, too.

“...Do you remember his name?”

“Uh… Schwarzer. Schwarzer Arrance,” he recalled, looking more than strained in doing so. “Why?”

“Come with me,” I told him, tapping his arm before heading the other way. “We have a storage in this facility, filled with letters addressed to the dead — letters that never, or maybe  _ hasn’t  _ reached its owner.”

For once, his face showed an ounce of emotion — in the form of absolute, unbridled  _ dread _ . “I-I—What? N-No, sir, I’m fine — seriously— you don’t need t— I—“

“Come with me if you’re ready to start  _ facing forward _ .” 

Through my shoulders, I saw his astonished look—his wide eyes, his realization, pondering a million thoughts all at once. “Otherwise, you can keep running away from the ghosts of your past, and it’ll be none of my business. Your choice.”

I kept walking on, towards the storage facility, without giving him another look. He sounded like he had frozen in place, gaze boring holes into the back of my head.

—And when I heard the shuffle and the footsteps catching up behind my back, I couldn’t help but smile.  
  


* * *

“...You always  _ were _ an amusing one.”

He looks up, pouting slightly, still sucking on the spot where he pricked himself with a needle while trying to sew up a tear in his blood veil, which he insisted on doing on his own despite Eva’s numerous (and worried) offers. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” I huff, crossing my legs on the sofa of their home base. “Just reminiscing.”

“Okay…?” The Successor raises a brow, but apparently decides not to inquire further, instead focusing back on his needlework. 

I watch on for a while longer. But eventually, curiosity got the better of me, so I ask him again: “...Any reason you never seem to ask me further about your past?”

He stops halfway through undoing (trying to, at least) a knot in the thread. “Sorry?”

“Your past,” I repeat. “I heard your vestige was quite damaged by the time you found it, so your memories aren’t fully restored. Yet you never seem to ask about the bits you do forget to me.”

“Ah. Uhm, well…” his voice trails off, and his gaze seems to fall on the farthest bit of carpet on the floor. “I’m just not the type who likes talking about myself, honestly.”

_ Old habits really do die hard.  _ I think to myself, not surprised in the slightest.

“Besides—How do I explain it…?“ He continues, but this time looks at the ceiling and taps his chin absentmindedly, as if pondering how best to arrange the thoughts into words. After a brief pause, he settles on: “Frankly, I just don’t feel the need to.”

_ That  _ surprises me. “What do you mean?”

“Uhm… It’s like,” He taps his chin again. “To be honest, even without my memories—without knowing all there is about my past, I don’t feel any regrets in me. I don’t  _ feel  _ like… there’s anything weighing me down, that I’ve forgotten or remembered. I think I feel fond, in fact, of those memories I never got to recall,

“And, well, if they — the people in that memory — were people whom I loved, who meant that much to me, then…” he continues, a fond smile forming on the face of the once-emotionless soldier, still himself yet so much more, when he said:

“I guess…that’s already enough for me.”

I stare. Staring wide-eyed, never expecting to get  _ that  _ sort of response from the ‘new kid’ from back then. Too focused on his work to notice how I look, though, said kid simply ties the last knot of the thread, then holds up his blood veil with a proud smile, apparently satisfied with his work.

And I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Wh-What?” The Successor asks as unwaveringly as he could, trying to hide the blush that’s forming on his cheek. “I was being serious. Did that sound funny to you?”

“No, not at all,” I reply, smirking. Which, apparently doesn’t help the poor kid’s embarrassment. “I swear, you’re an amusing one.”

He pouts, but seems to not want to inquire further. He’s getting up from the sofa, about to return the sewing kit to Mia, when I call out again:

“Kid.”

He looks up. “Yeah?”

“Your necklace,” I say, referring to the tiny, red-gem necklace hanging around his neck — the loot we found from the storage area of the research facility that forgotten night, a final gift attached to a letter from a certain someone. “It’s from someone important to you. Keep it safe.”

—When the ‘new kid’ instinctively grabs hold of the necklace, looks at it, then replies “Yes, sir.” with a serious look on his face, I can’t help but smile.

**Author's Note:**

> This one time I tried to write "Jack is such a Dad" and my phone autocomplete suggests it into "daddy" so I will just close with that. Thanks for reading!


End file.
